


Until I fall away

by Reyka_Sivao



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek - Various Authors, star trek fortunes of war
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 12:50:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14832600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyka_Sivao/pseuds/Reyka_Sivao
Summary: Sarda’s backstory before Dreadnought.





	Until I fall away

“Absolutely not.”

Sarda struggled to school his face to hide his shock.

“I fail to understand your objection, Mother,” he said when he found his voice. “You have always encouraged my scientific interest. Starfleet Academy would allow me to continue following those aspirations.”

His mother shook her head slightly. “I had some hope that you would at least be able to honor your family by achieving entrance into the Science Academy, even if your basic training was less than it should be. But you have failed to do even that, and think instead to live among offworlders? Among those who do not share our teachings? And then, as the price to pay to follow this ambition, to join an all-but-military organization? My son, you must rethink this ambition.”

Sarda swallowed hard, and noted the disapproval in his mother’s eyes at his slip of control.

“What would you have me do, Mother? I was not accepted to the Science Academy, and there are few institutions that would allow me to study at the level I aspire to. Would you rather I found my way to the Orion Institute of Cosmology?”

“I would not,” said his mother. “I would rather you stayed home where you belong.”

Sarda frowned and then bit the inside of his lip. “I would have little opportunity to advance if I were to remain here,” he said.

“Then perhaps you should reconsider your mode of advancement,” said his mother. “Your mental and emotional training must take precedence over your foolish ideals. Take after your sister, perhaps, and study more of philosophy and history until you understand that merely because a thing could be done does not mean that it should be done.”

Sarda feld something cold in the pit of his stomach. “Mother….” he said.

“Perhaps once you have completed your training properly, you could apply again to the Science Academy. But your skills would be useful enough, if you harnessed them to work as a technician or such. It is not necessary to aim to be more than one is.”

The edges of Sarda’s vision began to fizzle a little and he remembered to inhale.

“I...have already submitted my acceptance to Starfleet Academy.”

His mother frowned with her eyes, though the rest of her face remained perfectly neutral. There was a long pause during which Sarda wished to break eye contact, but found he could not do so.

Finally, his mother let out a breath. “You and I both know I cannot stop you,” she said. “But if you expected my blessing on this endeavor, your judgement is even less well-developed than it had seemed. But when you are inevitably forced to forsake your ideals in the pursuit of your passions, you may find that the road home is closed to you.”

With that, she turned and left him alone.

Sarda remained standing there with the forced neutrality he knew to wear, but his hand trembled.

* * *

_Greetings, mother._

Sarda looked at the flow of his handwriting and frowned quietly to himself. He could almost hear his mother’s voice correcting the shape and balance of the lettering of the traditional calligraphy she had insisted on teaching him herself. Nevertheless, he set that aside and continued.

_Greetings, mother._

_I have been well. My classes have, for the most part, been satisfactory. Although living among ofworlders has its difficulties, I find that I have yet to develop any serious regrets. My project involving the manipulation of light to form sensory-responsive projections has been going well, and may indeed become a useful tool in providing non-harmful defensive capabilities for federation ships. I have also become involved in a project involving transportation potential._

_In all, I have found your concerns about the values of starfleet to be somewhat overstated, and will continue my studies here for the time being._

_Regards,_   
_Your dutiful son._

Sarda stared at it as the ink dried. “Computer,” he said without looking up. “Address physical delivery for next transport to Vulcan.

“Working. Please indicate addressee.”

“T’Yutsu of clan Zul-Kov, Llangon region, Vulcan.”

“Working. Ready for item delivery.’

Sarda stared at the flowing script he had written, noting three more imperfections.

“Computer….”

“Working.”

Sarda inhaled slowly, and then stood up abruptly. “Computer, cancel item delivery,” he said. Without waiting for a reply, he took the letter, rolled it carefully up, and put it in the recycling receptacle.

* * *

He had, perhaps, been slightly less than completely honest about the difficulties of living with offworlders. Almost none of them maintained even the most basic of mental shields, and the constant telepathic noise was difficult enough to block out even when they weren’t trying to touch him. He had had to long since learn to be quick to avoid overeager humans and their handshakes.

* * *

It was just as well, he would have been late for class. Not that it would have mattered all that much--it was the lab for a simple intro to xenobiology class, one that he wouldn’t have taken at all if it hadn’t fulfilled a requirement. He never required even close to the full time allotment anyway, so being late wouldn’t have been an issue, but then his labmate would have asked where he was, and he didn’t feel like explaining anything at all about his family life, or lack thereof, to her.

She was, at least, not especially touchy. That almost made up for her habit of running her mouth before she thought anything through. At the moment, she was arguing with the teacher about the proper classification of mosses.

“I ate those almost every day on Proxima!” His labmate Piper was saying.

“Well unless your digestive system has a degree in biology, that doesn’t count for much!” said the professor. Being a Tellarite, she was probably enjoying the argument as much as Sarda wished he could get away from it.

“But--”

Piper was interrupted by the computer tone indicating the end of class time.

The professor waved her hand. “Extra credit assignment: The correct classification of mosses,” she said as the class started gathering to leave. “Five extra points. TEN to anyone who can find a source supporting Miss Piper’s assertion other than her own stomach.”

There was a titter of laughter across the room, counterpointed by Piper herself huffing in annoyed amusement.

“Challenge accepted,” she muttered to herself under her breath, and then accidentally made eye contact with him. She squinted. “Don’t you usually leave early?” she said.

“Class was not done,” said Sarda, packing up his belongings and standing to go.

“Oh huh, um. I hope you didn’t have anywhere to be.”

Sarda frownd just slightly. “It would be illogical to plan other events during class time.”

“I’ve done it,” said Piper cheerfully, which did exactly nothing to change his opinion on the matter. “Of course, sometimes it backfires.”

“Then why would you continue doing it?”

“Where would we be if we never took risks?”

“There are calculated risks, and then there is poor scheduling.”

“Same difference,” said Piper. Sarda did not even attempt to understand. “Anyway, I have a professor to prove wrong. See you on Thursday.”

* * *

Piper did not, in the end, prove the professor wrong about anything, though she did earn the class several more extra credit opportunities. She did, however, prove herself a competent enough labmate that Sarda voluntarily partnered with her in two more classes over the next few semesters rather than try his luck with an untested partner. It was a congenial enough relationship, even if all they did outside of classtime was nod slightly at one another in the corridors.

At least, that was how it was until the Outlast.

“Sir, I fail to see why you have chosen me for such an endeavor. I had planned to spend this time running more tests on my projects.”

“Your projects can wait,” said Admiral Rittenhouse said. “This is a test of much more than technical skill, and it takes all of one’s skills to be a capable starfleet officer. I’d like to know what you’re capable of.”

Sarda looked at him without much certainty. “...am I allowed to refuse?”

Admiral Rittenhouse smiled with just a little teeth showing. “Technically,” he said. “Technically yes. In practice, it’s not really recommended.”

“I see,” said Sarda, and weighed that for a moment. “In that case...I supposed I must accept.”

“Excellent,” said Admiral Rittenhouse. “I look forward to seeing your performance.”

Sarda nodded, but privately was already hoping for an early loss so he could leave.

The Outlast was set up with teams consisting of one science specialist and one command candidate, and no effort was taken to make the teams more even than that. The point of the exercise--or game, as some called it--was to eliminate other teams with hand phasers loaded with paint darts, and to end up the last team standing. Those were the only rules.

Sarda had to suppress a sigh as he picked up his assigned rolled-up equipment pouch and partner assignment. Piper. Well, it could be worse.

“Hey!”

He looked up just in time to see Piper waving at him.

“Long time no see,” she said, jogging up to him, with a light in her eyes. Sarda suppressed another sigh and set his desire to lose quickly on the back burner as its likelihood dwindled. “Ready for this?”

“If I must be,” said Sarda, and settled the pack over his shoulder to follow her to the transporter.

* * *

As he had feared, she was less than willing to accept an early defeat, and insisted on his help. She also proved all too easily manipulated by the strategies of her opponents when they attempted to elicit an emotional response.

Covered in dirty honey and leaves, brandishing her phaser like a madwoman, Piper fairly growled. “I’m going to kill him!”

She was going to get herself eliminated from the game of she kept this up. Finally, Sarda would be able to return to his plans and leave all this behind.

He reached out and grabbed her by the wrists.

It was the first time he had touched her, and he had to to force his shields to block out the intensity of her mind.

“Stop,” he said simply.

Piper did stop, and looked him full in the eyes. Inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled again.

“All right,” she said finally.

Sarda released her and resisted the urge to wipe his hands off. “You said you wanted to win this,” he said. “I think I can help you.”

* * *

In the end, Piper won them the Outlast--not by rushing in in her usual style, but by sitting quietly and showing no emotion. It was almost as much out of character for her has having the outlast on his resume at all was for Sarda.

Still, they parted ways in time for Sarda to complete his tests on his projects.

Namely, he was working of a project involving holographic projections of light that were autonomously responsive to stimuli, at least as far as sensor readings were concerned.

In fact, he was done with the preliminary tests, and now just needed permission for a vessel to install the prototype of to see if it worked as well in practice as it did in the lab.

He gathered up all his documentation to make his case for the use of a small shuttle to test his designs.

“And you say this has the potential to revolutionize starship defensive capabilities?”

“Anything more certain than potential would of course have to await further testing, but yes.”

“And you need a shuttle to test it on?”

“Yes.”

Admiral Rittenhouse sat back. “Absolutely not,” he said.

Sarda frowned and opened his mouth, but Admiral Rittenhouse held up a hand to forestall him.

“Absolutely not a shuttle,” he specified. “I have much grander plans in mind for this little project of yours. Tell me, young man, have you ever considered a career in weapons design?”

Sarda’s heart went cold in his side. “I...have not.”

Admiral Rittenhouse sat back. “That wasn’t a question, that was an offer.”

When you are inevitably forced to forsake your ideals in the pursuit of your passions...

Sarda shook his head slowly. “I am a pacifist,” he said. “I have no interest in designing tools for the taking of life.”

“Defense, offence, what’s the difference really?” said Admiral Rittenhouse. “It’s all part of strategy. It’s all part of being the one who comes out alive.”

“Do your plans involve weaponizing my designs?”

Admiral Rittenhouse laughed. “Of course not, my dear boy. You’ve already done that for me.”

“This design is purely defensive,” Sarda insisted.

“Is it?” said Admiral Rittenhouse. “Because I can think of half a dozen ways to use such an ability offensively without trying.”

Sarda was silent for a long moment.

“No,” he said finally. “I cannot do what you ask. I cannot stop you from doing as you will with my designs, but I want nothing more to do with them if you do.”

Admiral Rittenhouse’s eyebrows rose into his hairline. “Nothing?” he said. “Are you really saying that you would rather relinquish control than question why your people are so averse to the mere thought that violence is sometimes necessary?”

“That and more than that,” said Sarda. “If you weaponize my design, I must request that you remove my name from the designs.”

The Admiral’s eyebrows tried and failed to go higher. “You don’t even want credit?”

“No,” said Sarda. “I do not.”

With that, he turned and left the office.

His mother was wrong, he thought to himself. He did not have to sacrifice himself to the military ideas of starfleet.

* * *

Idly, Sarda sketched out the ideas forming in his head as he listened to the professor talk about the practical applications of particle physics in an engineering context. If you redirected the antimatter field with the right frequency, you could….

...you could potentially destabilize the warp field and cause an enemy ship to explode.

Silently, Sarda set the sheet aside and went back to taking notes on what the professor was saying, even though he didn’t really need to.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. Ever since he had refused the position as weapons designer, it seemed that every new idea he had was full of destructive potential. Or had they always been, and was was too blind to see it? Had the content of his ideas changed, or merely his awareness of them?

He took a note about the effects of gamma radiation of living matter, thought about it for a moment, and discarded three new ideas on the spot.

Maybe if he could design safety shielding instead…

Sarda took a new sheet of paper and began sketching out that idea.

* * *

This particular class didn’t have a proper lab portion, but it did have a practicalities lab where he and a group off classmates modeled a starship crew, with cadets in command, sciences, and engineering. The command cadets were allowed to pick their “crews”, and Piper was in this class, and had chosen him and a betazoid engineer with especially lax mental shielding.

“I’m just saying,” said Salwan, the Betazoid engineer. “We should definitely equip our ship with transphasic shielding.”

“Transphasic shielding is only in the first stages of experimental testing,” said Sarda. “It is not available for standard starship equipping yet.”

“That’s what makes it fun!” said Salwan, radiating enthusiasm both vocally and telepathically. Sarda narrowly avoided physically flinching.

“No,” said Piper. “We need standard-issue equipping.” She paused, and grinned. “Now, if you can think of ways to use that standard issue to do creative things…”

“She is not being hyperbolic,” said Sarda for Salwan benefit, remembering the Outlast and creating crude but functional radio communications devices out of their Feinberger medical scanners.

Salwan huffed, sending out another ripple of psychic vibrations that Sarda struggled to block out. “Fine. But setting it up so that we can route the antimatter containment field through the main deflector array of we need to.”

Sarda frowned. “That would be as likely to destroy us as it would to damage an enemy ship.”

“What?” said Salwan. “No, I mean, route the backup generators through to beef up the shields. I’m not completely suicidal. Though…” he tilted his head. “You’re not wrong about it being a potentially powerful weapon, if you could get around the whole self-destruct thing.”

“Oh?” said Piper. “What about ‘powerful’?’”

Salwan jabbed his thumb at Sarda. “You’ve got yourself a science officer with an eye for weaponry,” he said.

“It is nothing,” said Sarda, trying again to block out Salwan’s emotional emissions while at the same time sliding the morning’s weapon ideas out of sight.

“No, that could be really useful in these exercises,” said Piper, her eyes lighting up. Sarda’s heart sank a little lower in his side.

* * *

The class did indeed have them face all sorts of imaginary enemies, as well as natural phenomena and increasingly unlikely malfunctions. Their score was based mostly on how often they managed to survive such encounters. Their all too human professor seemed to be looking more for creative solutions than anything else, and Sarda quickly learned that working among humans meant setting aside the high probability of death in favor of trying untested hypotheses just to see what happened. It was...not what he would have learned if he had made it into the Vulcan Science Academy.

They survived a Klingon attack by enhancing the effect of a local graviton bubble and entrapping the enemy ships, a temporal anomaly (that Sarda would have believed fictitious if it hadn’t come straight from the Enterprise’s logs)] by slingshotting around the nearest star, and destroyed a Romulan vessel through the simple expedient of hiding in a nearby nebula and using their phasers to heat up a nearby metallic asteroid until the romulans mistook its heat signature for them and they were able to blindside the warbird.

“Excellent work, very creative,” said the professor, which, as Sarda had figured out by then, were virtually synonymous for her. “I look forward to seeing all of you go on to become top-rate starfleet officers.”

Piper fairly beamed with pride, and Salwan didn’t bother shielding his.

“Oh, professor?” said Piper as they stood to gather their things. “Can I have a word with you when you’re done?”

Sarda nodded his farewells and didn’t make a point of staying to hear the answer.

* * *

It was graduation day. The day most of his classmates had been looking forward to for the entirety of their academic careers, and the one that Sarda had been...not dreading, no, that was an emotional response. But it was to be the end of the education he had come here to receive, and now he was to become a full-fledged starfleet officer...and his mother’s voice would not stop running in his head, though he had not spoken to her since he had left vulcan.

Each cadet walked across a stage decorated in starfleet and united federation of planets colors to receive both their diploma and their commission, though most already knew their assigned starship. Sarda, though, had not received his yet, though he had requested assignment aboard the all-vulcan staffed Intrepid-A.

The cadets were called according to Federation Standard alphabetical order, so Sarda had plenty of time to sit and wish for a more effecient and less ceremonial...though, he thought to himself, his own people definitely had a place in their hearts for ceremony. His mind traveled for a moment back to the ceremony in which he had been bonded to his future wife when they were children. He rarely thought of her, but someday…

“Salwan Laxa,” called the master of ceremonies, and his former classmate stood up from a few seats down and grinned before heading toward the stage.

That only left Samoi Shenoa, a human, Sapaan, one of the very few other Vulcans in the graduating class, Saparien Ruifa, a species Sarda didn't recognize offhand, and Saqoin Har, an Andorian.

“Sarda,” read out the master of ceremonies, with that slight hitch that always seemed to accompany the few single-name students in the sea of dual names. Sarda stood and followed the same path the previous students had taken. He wasn’t particularly keen on the whole affair, especially since it seemed to require shaking hands with the admiral handing out the diplomas. Still, all he had to do was walk across the stage, take the diploma, shake hands if he couldn’t gracefully avoid it, and pose for a moment for the pictures that most students would be sending to proud families.

He took measured steps across the stage and took the diploma from the admiral, whose name, in the moment, he had somehow forgotten.

The admiral glanced down at a small padd where he was clearly keeping notes.

“Ah, a special announcement!” he said.

Sarda froze.

“In a special last-minute assignment, Sarda of Vulcan has been assigned the posission he so desired: a place in weapons design!”

The sea of polite applause thundered in Sarda’s ears.

His eyes flicked out to the crowd, falling first upon the disapproving eyes of Sapaan, though they had never even crossed paths, but that wasn’t what he was looking for.

She was there.

Applauding past the polite line everyone else had started dying away at.

Piper.

Piper, grinning up at him. Piper, looking radiantly pleased with herself. Piper, who had done this to him.

The admiral found his hand and shook it, and it was all Sarda could do to keep his shields from fracturing.

* * *

The comm was already beeping with an incoming message by the time he made his way dazedly back to his room.

Incoming message from T’Yutsu, Llangon region, Vulcan.  
The screen filled with the image of his mother’s face, staring just slightly away from his actual face.

“My son,” she began.

“I have been informed that you have accepted a position in weapons design in starfleet as part of your commission.

“I believe you already know my position on the matter. No true son of mine would accept such a position, but I await your confirmation or denial of what starfleet has told me.

“Your mother, T’Yutsu.”

The screen cut off.

Sarda took a few steadying breaths to steel himself.

“Computer, begin response to--”

The computer beeped with another incoming message.

Sarda frowned in momentary confusion.

Incoming message from T’Faina, Llanagon region, Vulcan.

He didn’t quite place the name before the face filled the screen and the message started.

“Sarda, sa-fu t’T’Yutsu,” began the woman’s face that filled the screen. “One who is bonded to my daughter T'Lar.

Sarda’s blood ran yet colder in his veins.

“It has been brought to my attention that your life choices are no longer in accordance with orthodox surakian philosophy. As one who has been bound to the more military ideals of starfleet, I have determined that you are no longer a suitable match for my daughter. At the first date we are able to obtain a healer to assist, we will be severing the bond between you and T'Lar.

“It is my hope that you see the error of your ways before it is too late.

“Regards,

“T’Faina ko-fu T’Nima, Llangon region, Vulcan.”

The screen shut off and Sarda was left staring at a blank computer screen.

* * *

Sarda‘s head hurt.

He sat at the cafeteria table staring at a bowl of soup trying to make himself hungry enough to eat a few bites. He had barely eaten in two days, ever since the bond had snapped and left him in psychic agony.

He should have been with a healer himself when it happened, but there were no Vulcan healers available to him at starfleet academy, and he had no desire to try to explain his situation to anyone else, and most of the federation doctors weren’t telepaths anyway.

The hole in his mind where he had once dimly felt the presence of his former future wife throbbed like a toothache. Sarda tried again to set aside the pain as he had been taught and took a small spoonful of soup.

“Hey there.”

It took everything in Sarda not to spit the soup on the newcomer.

Piper, who was in fact the one who had spoken, seemed to take that as a greeting and slid into the booth opposite him.

“I heard you tried to refuse the position in weapons design,” she said.

Sarda swallowed. The soup tasted like bile going down.

“They would not allow me to do so,” he said, against his better judgement. “Not without resigning my commission entirely.”

“Why?” said Piper bluntly.

Sarda gritted his teeth and answered the question she had technically asked rather than the one he knew full well she had meant. “Their reasons are their own. They cited public relations.”

“No,” said Piper. “Why did you refuse?”

Sarda looked from her to his soup and contemplated the incredible rudeness that humans seemed so fond of.

“Why did you recommend me for the position?” he said instead.

Piper frowned. “Because you were good at it,” she said. “It was clearly your gift. Why in any planet’s hell wouldn’t you want to use your talents? Isn’t that what you came here to do? Won’t you regret it if you don’t at least see what you’re capable of?”

“For reasons that are my own, no, and no.”

Piper shook her head. “I thought I understood you,” she said.

“You did not,” said Sarda, tasting a bitterness that had nothing to do with the soup.

“I thought...I thought it was what you wanted.”

Sarda stood up abruptly and grabbed the still-full bowl of soup.

“You thought many things,” he said roughly. “Perhaps you should have taken the time to know something.”

“But--”

“Your thoughtlessness has cost me dearly. I can see no logical reason for either of us to have any further contact with the other.”

“Sarda--”

Sarda turned his back, not remotely caring about his own rudeness.The soup sloshed and burned his hand, but he ignored it and shoved the whole bowl in the recycler before walking out to face what was left of his world.


End file.
